


The Unrequited.

by Palthid



Series: Boyfriend to Death [1]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hanahaki Disease, Lawrence Oleander(BTD)xMC, MC has Hanahaki, Other, This is my first fic so I don't really know what to put??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palthid/pseuds/Palthid
Summary: You, a semi-average person, do your shopping at night. You also do most other things at night. Hating the bustle of daytime life, you've adopted a night-shift lifestyle and become somewhat a recluse. One night you see him at the store and become obsessed, will you ever see him again?





	The Unrequited.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first official oneshot of any kind, and feedback would be very much so appreciated! Thank you so much! xoxo- Vince

You met him late at night. The stores were so much more quiet and well... _convenient_ then. Less encounters, less eccentric people to try and make small talk. You hated that. It was easier this way.

As you made your way to the next isle, your grip on the basket you had your arm looped through tightened. There stood a man. For some reason as you stood near him your mind told you that he could talk to you at any moment, and that maybe even _you_ were bothering _him_. It was when you both turned to each other at the same time that you felt your heart skip a beat and maybe even stop. It was cliché, but that's truly what it felt like. His eyes were so piercing, vibrant, but the rest of him practically radiated a cold dead.... nothing.

There was something about him that made you want to know _everything_ about him.

You both mumbled 'sorry' at the same time and brushed past each other. Not a split second after you could smell a sickly sweet dankness, like a fruit left to rot in the summer sun too long. You knew immediately it was him, and in your heart, you knew that you wanted to be closer.

 

In the following days, all you could think about was him. What did he like, what kind of music does he listen to, why does he shop so late at night? Maybe he too hated everything about the daytime life. He was in everything you did, daily tasks had narrations of 'I wonder what his name is, he looks like a Shaun, maybe? Or no, maybe a foreign name.' Work was punctuated by fantasizing of his odd demeanor, you fantasizing about how he would move and talk. Those piercing eyes boring into your own.

You were totally enamored with a stranger.

On your night off, a Friday, you decided to go to a bar. It was a little more crowded than you hoped for, but you were committed. After ordering a white Russian, you sat at a table along the wall and just listened to the environment. Of all places to go while full of people you favored this the most. People were busy with their own lives. Either drowning themselves in drink to forget, or with a date, friends in town perhaps? In your people watching, you just so happened to spot him.

He sat alone. You could only see the side of his face. A small glass that hadn't been touched sat without a coaster on the dark oak table, his pointer finger and thumb lazily resting at the base of the glass. From what you could see of his hands, they were calloused. Working mans hands. You wondered, where did he work? His other hand kept his head propped up, but it was tilted down in a manner that suggested that his captivating, lively eyes were just staring into his drink. You wished so desperately that you could see those eyes, but they were blocked by a curtain of dishwater blonde hair. The rest of it was pulled back in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, and you wished you could feel that hair. Was it like straw? It didn't look like it, more like the bare ends of an unfinished silk dress. Those eyes were so much more alive than the rest of him, even his skin looked dead. You felt like he was looking... _inside_ you.

Wait.

When did he turn towards you? He was staring back now, those eyes seeming hungry in a way you couldn't describe. Stomach lurching, you watch him get up. Eyes follow excitedly as he starts walking toward you.... and hurriedly past. A sharp pain shoots through your chest, but not only through your heart, for some reason in your lungs as well. At least you get to smell that sickly sweet smell again.

 

It's when you get home and you're laying in bed, thinking nothing but him that you realize you have feelings for him. Perhaps strong feelings.  
You're getting ready for work on Sunday night when you first realize something is wrong. At first it's a small dry heave, and then you think you see blood so you rush to the bathroom. Hunched over the tub, you heave and heave, an odd texture coming up your throat. You look down to see poppy petals scattered across the dull green bottom of your bathtub, covered in a little bit of blood here and there. Your confusion is instant but it's not long before it clicks. Hanahaki. Staying right were you were, you fish your phone from your pocket and call out of work for the first time in about three months, which helps your case immensely. Generously, the shift manager gives you a few days off. You think they can hear that there's something genuinely wrong, especially when you have to hold back another wave of petals. It's futile, you choke and spit it out, mouth tasting odd and organic. Wishing you well and a speedy recovery (for the company's sake) the shift manager hangs up. You press your forehead to the cool material of the bathtub side and sigh, pressing your hand to your chest. It's hard to process that there were roots that were going to overtake your own lungs. Hard to _believe_. All because someone you ...loved didn't like you even as a friend in any way. The two of you had only met twice, this was hardly fair!  
At first you felt helpless, and practically lived in the bathroom. There was a nest of blankets and pillows, bottles of tea and a laptop for movies, the bathtub full of flower petals and fresh healthy leaves. There were even vines, which were hell to chuck up. A constant stream of tears left a shiny trail down your cheeks, and you were quick to lift yourself up at any sign of a cough or feeling even slightly like heartburn. One whole flower came out once or twice, prompting you to cry twice as hard, but the kudzu vine made you snap.

_'I am dying.'_ You thought.

As frail as you certainly felt with your harrowing disease, you dressed in something comfortable but socially presentable, and headed out. There was a lesser known public garden you liked, despite your hatred for plants right now that would be a nice place to spend some last moments. Maybe you're being a little dramatic on the dying statement, but it certainly felt like it. Especially when another set of snapdragons ripped their way up your throat, and you had to lean off to the side of the sidewalk and cough them up. Soon you were at the garden, though, and you had no problem sitting at the waters edge and coughing things up into the neglected lake as you relaxed as best as you could. So focused were you on spitting up more poppies and baby's breath that you didn't see him. He had been there much longer than you, so he saw you almost pathetically make your way to the lakes edge and sit down. He didn't give too much thought until he heard vomiting noises, and turned to see a vibrant red, now so gruesomely intrigued.  
The crunch of grass made you whip your head over and then up to meet those eyes, making you shudder. He doesn't speak, which makes you feel so much more embarrassed, because he's found you pretty much throwing up at two in the morning at a public park.

"Sorry for staring at you in the bar." You say meekly, and you can just barely see him flush a bit. But he still doesn't say anything to that. He doesn't know what to say to that.  
"And sorry you have to see me throw up flowers and leaves and stuff." You say, your voice pitching just at the end as you feel that feeling. And then comes flowers. Both heads and just petals, and endless torrent. He kneels, a hand on your back, and you think he's coming down to your level to comfort you, but then you see his other hand cut directly in front of the slow fall of flowers. He seems entranced. Grasping at them gently and rubbing them against each other, he frowns, letting them go.

"Th-they're so fragile... _you're_ so fragile..." He finally says, and his voice is nothing as you imagined. It's better, soft but distant, cold almost. Like he isn't aware that he's living. "I want to show you something." He says, and you nod. Thankfully, the flowers have stopped for now. You stand with some hesitant help, and as he helps you to his truck, you have to ask.  
"What's your name?" It's more eager than you intended for it to be, but you can't take it back now, and can only turn your head to look up at his almost cherub-like face. He seems to hesitate in anything he does.  
"Lawrence." He answers, but doesn't ask you about your name. You both get into the truck, and he makes quick work of getting the keys into the ignition. It's not long before the truck is on the road, and it's quiet, both inside the small cab and outside. You watch outside the window as the scenery changes from city to forest, a small cough coming up. Hands shooting up instinctively to your mouth, Lawrence shakes his head. "No, it's ok." and uses one of his hands to push yours down.  
He... _wanted_ you to..?  
As if he knew what you were thinking, he glances only briefly, and nods. Either way, you cough at the same time Lawrence hits a few little rocks on the dirt road, and the flowers practically jump from your throat. You saw him smile from the corner of your eye.

As he pulled to a stop in a darker but more lush spot in the woods, you hop out of the truck, meeting Lawrence at the hood. His lively eyes seem to be lit with some kind of fire that didn't match his voice.  
"I-I want to watch you um. The flowers. I really like..." He trails off, and you start conveniently choking. He only leads you to a sun-bleached and weathered chair to sit, and watches. It's a thick vine of sorts, and it tickles your throat in a bad way as it comes up. Lawrence grabs it, his other hand without regard going to your throat. Tugging, he brings tears to your eyes, and makes you choke more. Hands flying up in a panic, they grip his arms, but he was stronger than he looked. Gagging, you cough and exclaim your distaste, while he sits on your lap to immobilize you for the most part. Once the vine was out, he wrapped it around your throat, and your eyes widened. Tighter, tighter, and you cough up a few more useless plants into your laps. Whimpering, you struggle, pushing weakly. The vine only did so much to restrict your breathing, though before it snapped. Lawrence looked disappointed, and dropped the vine, looking up and into your eyes for the first time. "You're a wilting flower, you know that?" He whispers, eyes glazed over. He takes a pocket knife out, and flicks it open. It's all you can do to hold back whimpers, especially when he presses the knife to your chest. Even through clothes, which he was quick to discard, it was a little terrifying. Once there was nothing but a bare chest, Lawrence cut down, pressing deep. Screaming out, tears pooled in your eyes. Lawrence looked focused, and once the cut was deep enough, widened it to see your lungs from behind your ribs.  
"No, I want to see the flowers.." He mumbled, more to himself than anything, and sat up straight again to make another cut across and widen your torso opening more. At this point, there was nothing, just a buzz as you watched him work, spitting up flowers. You vaguely remember screaming as he cracked your ribs one by one, and set them gently by the chair. "You're... you're so pretty... I feel so much closer to you now..." he mumbles, moving to position the knife against the lungs. At this point you were too far gone, you felt like you were watching yourself from above your actual body, watching as he cut into your lungs. They were filled with roots and flower blossoms and petals, and Lawrence seemed very pleased by this. You knew then that you were surely dead, and it was at least by someone so eye-catching, but you knew the love you felt, it was unrequited.


End file.
